


Tea for Three

by I_was_BOTWP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/pseuds/I_was_BOTWP
Summary: Christmas Eve tea certainly isn't turning out to be the quiet, romantic evening Hermione and Draco had planned. (Not a triad fic, btw, in case you were wondering.)





	Tea for Three

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DFFandCabalChristmasFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DFFandCabalChristmasFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Dramione. Former lovers. "You're my favorite place to go to when my mind searches for peace."

Hermione glanced sharply at Draco when the wards alerted her someone was coming up the front walk less than a minute before a knock sounded on the door. The surprise visitor was keyed to her wards, so she tried not to be overly concerned.

They were putting the finishing touches on Christmas Eve tea. The plan had been for a quiet evening, just the two of them.

“I’ll see who it is,” Draco told Hermione, sliding his wand off the kitchen counter and into his pocket. “You take everything to the sofa.”

The mood was already set in the living room. A huge tree in the corner with twinkling lights and a roaring fire in the fireplace offered plenty of cozy light as Hermione laid out their little feast on the coffee table.  The wireless was on, playing Muggle Christmas music.

“Granger,” she heard from the front of the house.  Her back stiffened - the amount of irritation imbued into that single word was palpable. “There’s a distraught ginger here for you.”

Hermione huffed in frustration. She pulled her wand, and cast a hasty Stasis Charm on their food and drinks.

“Ronald Weasley, my owl should have been enough, you had better not be here trying to ruin my Christmas,” she seethed as she stalked into the foyer.

“Oh,” Hermione whispered, stopping short, her anger dissipating.

A visibly inebriated George Weasley stood leaning against the backside of the closed front door. He’d been inspecting his scuffed boots, but now met her eyes with his own bloodshot ones. His hair was disheveled, his shoulders were slumped, and his hands were buried deep in the pockets of a pair of trousers with stained knees.

“Wrong Weasley,” George rasped, a small smirk on his lips.

Hermione’s eyes darted over to Draco, quickly expecting ire at having their festive evening interrupted in such a manner.  Instead she found Draco blankly staring at George, appraising, but not judging. At least she thought that was what he was doing. She was still working through cataloguing the small nuances of Draco’s expressions.

George coughed hard, clearing his throat. “You know what they say about aaasssssumptions, love.”

Hermione wanted to scold him, wanted to tell him that he was the only ass in the room.

She pursed her lips.

Draco turned on his heel. “I brewed some sober up potion last week to be ready for New Year’s. Good thing _m_ _y assumption_ that we’d need it was correct,” he called cooly over his shoulder.

George’s head lolled, watching the track Draco made rapidly disappearing down the hall. When he rolled it back towards Hermione, only one bloodshot eye remained open.

“Is he expecting us to follow him?” George slurred.

Hermione shrugged. “I think so,” she hesitantly admitted.

“Stop dawdling!” Draco’s voice echoed back at them from the kitchen.

George pushed off the door, staggering slightly, before stopping next to her and peering down with one eye still closed. He jutted out an elbow at her. “Milady.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose, and shuddered at the smell of stale smoke wafting off of George’s clothes. Underlying that awful smell was the scent of a distillery.

Yet, she still took his arm.

Which turned out to be helpful in guiding his uneven, plodding steps away from the entryway and towards the sounds of Draco moving about in the kitchen - cupboards opening, the tap turning on, and the clink of a mug on the tile counter.

“Chamomile flowers, peppermint leaves, lavender flowers, lemon verbena, rose petals, and a bit of honey,” Draco informed them when the kettle began to whistle. He poured the tea into the waiting mug, and slid the honey and a small vial next to it. “Get a sip or two of tea into you before you take the potion.”

“Here,” Hermione offered when George roughly picked up the mug, sloshing hot water onto his hand, “let me carry that out to the sofa. We can all sit there for a bit.”

She extricated the cup from George. Draco scooped up the vial before George could make a clumsy grab at it. George brought his hand to his mouth, sucking on the pink patch of skin where the tea had hit.

“Let me heal that for you,” Draco offered, indicating George’s hand. He slowly slid his wand out, watching George for understanding, before he pointed it at the others man's hand and uttered a healing spell.

Hermione digested the thought that Draco could be so thoughtful, while silently thanking Tyche for George not misinterpreting Draco’s intentions.

“C’mon,” Hermione cajoled. She led the way towards the other room.

The fire still crackled away merrily and Bing Crosby was now crooning on the wireless when they filed in. George was moving slowly and unsteadily, but at least he was making it without help. Hermione had a feeling Draco had chosen to bring up the rear to keep an eye on the other wizard.

She placed George’s tea next to her own cup, and sat on the sofa.  George plopped down ungracefully next to her. Draco seemed unsure what to do with himself. The couch was large enough by far for the three of them, but George had just laid claim to the middle seat. The blond man moved around the room, awkwardly finding little things to do, like placing another log in the fire, as George took a slurp of tea.

“Katie broke things off with me.” George broke the silence after a second loud sip of tea.

Draco looked around the room, and seeing nothing else to distract him, made his way to the other end of the sofa.  He awkwardly perched on the edge.  Hermione decided this was still better than him dragging a chair over and rearranging the room in order to avoid sitting relatively near the drunk man.

“She told me,” George continued with a sneer, “that it wasn’t me, it was her. What a load of dragon-shite.”

Hermione reached over to put a comforting hand on his thigh. Draco silently uncorked the Sober Up potion and held it in front of George.

“Am I unlovable?” The redhead turned to Hermione, his eyes wild.

Draco pulled his arm back, resting the vial on his knee.

Hermione gave George’s leg a reassuring squeeze. “Not at all,” she murmured.

“Then why’d Katie leave me right before Christmas?” George demanded.

“And why did Angie dump me by owl?” he thumped his mug back onto the coffee table.

George turned to Draco, gesturing at him a bit too grandly, so that Draco had to shift in order not be be accidentally hit. “And how did you end up with him instead of me?” George finished his tirade, and turned back to Hermione with watery eyes.

Hermione looked to Draco’s shocked face, then glanced down the rigid lines of his body. His hand shook slightly as he clutched the glass container.

“Draco…” Hermione trailed off, realizing she had no idea what to do or say in this situation.

“I’m just broken,” George moaned, dropping his face into his hands. Soft sobs began, punctuated with an occasional hiccough.

Over the top of George’s head, Hermione gave Draco a pleading look.

“No really.  No one wants me around,” George asserted through sniffles, as Hermione started rubbing his back. “Why do you think I’m here rather than with my family on Christmas Eve?”

“I’d been wondering that very thing, Weasley,” Draco spoke up for the first time in a while. Hermione glimpsed the same bit of possible concern on his face she’d witnessed in the foyer.  Yes, concern - that was what she was now sure was behind his nearly blank look.

“Yeah, I guess showing up at your former lover’s house at night, on a holiday, isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had,” George admitted, sitting up to lean back into the sofa. Tears flowed freely down his splotchy face as he continued to hiccough.

“Here, take the potion and tell us about it after you’ve finished it,” Draco offered, patiently holding out the small vial again.  This time George took it.  Draco produced a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to George too.

George downed the potion, and used the handkerchief to wipe his face and blow his nose while it took effect.

Hermione could see the moment it fully hit him.  George’s eyes darted around the room, truly taking in the setting. He turned towards Draco, mouth open.  Draco held up his hand, warding off whatever George thought he wanted to say.  The blond stood up and moved over to a side table which contained a bottle of scotch and tumblers.

“I know you just sobered up, but I’m afraid I won’t make it through without one of these,” he said.  He looked to Hermione in question.  She shook her head no.  He poured a fair amount and moved away to quietly stare out a window.

George’s attention shifted to Hermione. The guilt on his face was unmistakable.  

“I should go,” he said hastily. He went to stand, but Hermione put out her arm in front of him.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she said.

“I shouldn’t have come here tonight.” He was getting agitated, but didn’t push Hermione’s arm away. “I ruined your Christmas Eve tea.”

“No, you didn’t.” Hermione attempted to put his mind at ease.

A snort came from across the room, but Draco didn’t turn away from gazing outside.

Frank Sinatra’s voice filled the quiet of the room, telling them to let their hearts be light.

George gently pushed Hermione’s arm aside and reached forward enough to pick his tea back up. Hermione knew it would be cool by now, but George didn’t appear to care as he gulped the remainder down.

“Did he even know? About us?” He looked ill.  Hermione suspected it was a combination of a hangover setting in, along with guilt and embarrassment over the entire situation.

Hermione flashed back to a time, seemingly very long ago now, when she’d been sure the twins were incapable of feeling either guilt or shame.  She was sure she’d yelled at them to “grow up” more than once. Seeing the grown up George in her home tonight could only be described as a tragedy.

Peter Pan was never meant to grow up...

Hermione breathed in deeply through her nose, calming herself before she answered George, but Draco beat her to it.

He had turned away from the window, but hadn’t moved any closer to them. “When we first started dating, I made it very clear I never wanted to hear about her ginger lover,” he grimaced and took a swig of scotch before continuing, “Guess I have proved the point about making _assumptions_.”

“Wrong Weasley,” George answered tiredly, directing it at Draco this time.

“So, no Ron, then?” Draco shifted his attention to Hermione.

Hermione could feel her face heating up.

“Ewww,” Draco whispered, with a look of disgust and a shudder.

“I would prefer not to discuss this now,” Hermione tried for a prim and proper voice, but it came out sounding a bit pleading.

She made a disgruntled sound.

“Fine, George and I were together, briefly, and secretly, mind you, after Ron and I broke up. No one else knew, until today,” she huffed at Draco, crossing her arms across her chest.

Draco let out a genuine laugh, breaking the tension. “I didn’t ask, love. But thanks.”

George made a small noise next to her.

“What?” she turned to him indignantly.

“It’s just that, well, Bill knows. Which means that Fleur probably knows too. Sorry I never said anything. He came over to my flat one time after leaving Gringotts. We were, uh, a bit too busy to hear him. He saw enough before sneaking back out,” George confessed.

“Whatever,” Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “He obviously never told anyone else, or it’d be all over the place by now.”

George gave her a relieved smile.  Hermione looked at him more closely. George’s skin looked clammy. Hermione realized he was most certainly hungover, but there seemed more to it.

“When’s the last time you ate, George?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Accio glass. Aguamenti.” Hermione handed one of the crystal tumblers, now filled with water, to George.

“There’s plenty for the three of us,” Hermione directed her voice at George while giving Draco a challenging look. Draco nodded his agreement and Hermione allowed herself to relax.

The upbeat tempo of Burl Ives' “Holly Jolly Christmas” flowed around them as George drank greedily from his glass.

Draco left the room without a word, but came back shortly with an extra plate, utensils, and a napkin. “I put the kettle back on,” he informed them before he grabbed their three cups and walked back out again.

“Is he really ok with this?” George whispered.

“He isn’t afraid to speak his mind,” Hermione let him know.

“Here, eat,” Hermione told George, handing him an empty plate while taking one for herself.

By unspoken agreement, they both quietly loaded up their plates, but sat back, waiting for Draco before continuing the conversation or starting to eat.

Draco put three steaming cups of tea on the coffee table and took the empty seat on the sofa next to George. George looked at the way his mug gave off a thicker steam and leaned forward to sniff it.

“It’s got a shot of Pepper-Up Potion in it,” Draco answered the unspoken question.

“Happy Christmas,” Hermione saluted the two wizards from her corner of the couch.

“This is excellent,” George complimented Hermione after the first few bites.

“Oi!” Draco snapped.

“Draco’s a much better cook than me,” the witch admitted with a twinkle in her eye. “He says it has a direct correlation to potion-making abilities.”

“Fred was the same way.” George swiveled to better address Draco. Hermione had already heard this before, so she didn’t take offense at his turned back. “When we first opened our shop, mum thought she could starve us into submitting to her and dad’s wishes.  She figured if we didn’t have the elves at Hogwarts or her feeding us, we’d get hungry soon and come round The Burrow, begging for forgiveness.  We couldn’t afford carry-out, so we learned to fend for ourselves fairly quickly.  Fred was always better at potions than I was.”

“It’s your family, isn’t it?” Draco said suddenly. It took Hermione a moment to follow the leap he’d made from George’s story about Fred to his statement.

She set her half-eaten plate down and took a drink of her tea, watching George’s body language as he processed Draco’s remark.

Hermione turned her eyes to Draco, only to see an unmasked look of pity on his face while he looked at George.

“Your family’s expectations can be tough to live up to,” Draco offered sagely.

George’s form seemed to fold in on itself.

Hermione wanted to hug both men at once.  Her boyfriend so often came off as cold. She had learned to be patient with him. Loving him was like unwrapping a Christmas present - the exterior often gave no clue to what was inside. Seeing him be vulnerable with someone other than her was a bit exhilarating.  And poor, broken George. Merlin.

She chose to pull George into her side, mouthing a silent, “I love you,” over his head to Draco.

George’s voice rumbled through her as he spoke against her shoulder. “I was imagining the way each of them would react when I showed up alone tonight, another failed relationship under my belt.  Mum would try to smile, but you know the grimace she makes when she is, very poorly, concealing her judgement,” he began. Hermione surely did know that look on Molly’s face.

“And dad, he’d probably give my shoulder a pat before launching into some tale about hapless Muggles, in hopes of distracting everyone.  Bill and Fleur aren’t so bad.  Although I hate it when she thinks she needs to stick up for me.  Doubt Charlie’d have much to say, but then he’d probably want to go out to the pub later to see if he could get a leg over and expect me to come along.  Percy, that git. He’d definitely ask me what _I did_ , assuming it was all my fault.  Ron?” George let out a wet, choked sounding laugh, “No point in telling you what a wanker he’d be, is there?  And Ginny just doesn’t get it.  Her life turned out fucking perfect, didn’t it?”

By the end of his monologue, George was curled into her, failing at holding back his tears.  Her arms were wrapped around him, one hand running soothingly through his hair.  The slight disgust she felt at being so close to the overwhelming smell of him must have shown.  Not to him, his head was buried in the crook of her neck, but to Draco, who pulled out his wand and cast a few spells to clean up their guest.

George let out a contented sound. His shoes were now off, sent to the front cupboard; he smelled fresh, and his clothes were clean and repaired. He repositioned his body, tucking his feet up under himself on the couch, and letting one arm sneak around Hermione’s waist.

Dean Martin’s mellow voice came out of the wireless. A log in the fire gave a loud pop, but no one moved.  The three of them just sat there, lost in their own thoughts.

Hermione wished she knew what to say to George.  She didn’t have any words of wisdom to offer him.  She just continued to stroke his head as she hummed along to the Christmas music.

She looked over to Draco.  His worry at sitting too close to George had dissipated. He was sprawled across his corner of the sofa, legs spread wide, head tipped back with his hands laced behind it as he stared at the firelit shadows dancing across the ceiling.

“I had a pretty fair idea of why you were here even before Hermione came storming down the hall, ready to hex your brother,” Draco admitted, without moving his head. “I know too much about family expectations and the ways they can wreak havoc on your life.”

The Carol of the Bells rang melodically, offering Hermione something to latch onto, rather than the sadness seeping in.

“Your life is yours to live, George. No one else’s. You don’t need to live it for your mum, your dad, or any of your family. Including Fred.” Hermione felt George stiffen. Draco had just been braver with those last two words than she could imagine.

The bells kept ringing.

She’d almost thought George had both mentally and physically exhausted himself enough to be asleep in her arms when she felt him relax again.

“I’m sorry I came tonight,” he spoke quietly, surprising her, his voice still gruff from crying, but clear enough to be heard. “It’s just that when my mind searches for peace, you’re my favorite thing to think of, Hermione. I wouldn’t have shown up if I’d been sober.”

Hermione willed the tears to stay in her eyes.  Her throat tightened up and she could only give him a squeeze in response. She didn’t want to let her thoughts linger on the number of times he may have thought of coming to her in the past, but stayed away.

Draco turned his head, assessing Hermione holding another man and gave her a smile filled with love and understanding. “George,” he said, waiting for the other man to lift his head and turn to him before continuing. “You are welcome in our home any time. But next time, try to show up sober, because that’s the only part you need to apologize for.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I realize this was most likely not even close to the intent of the person who submitted this prompt. I also realize that the quote was rearranged a bit to suit my purposes. Please don’t hate me. My muse wanted Hermione and Draco to deal with one of their past lovers, rather than having a broken relationship of their own. It certainly is more angsty than I expected. Hope y’all still enjoyed it. Alpha love to AlexandraO and beta love to 89JadedPictures.


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